people are always coming
and going.

Besides, I was tired. I had had a very busy morning, helping the men
bring in a lot of cases of beer, and running into the saloon to talk to
Fred and generally looking after things. So I was just dozing off
again, when I heard a voice say, 'Well, he's ugly enough!' Then I knew
that they were talking about me.

I have never disguised it from myself, and nobody has ever disguised it
from me, that I am not a handsome dog. Even mother never thought me
beautiful. She was no Gladys Cooper herself, but she never hesitated to
criticize my appearance. In fact, I have yet to meet anyone who did.
The first thing strangers say about me is, 'What an ugly dog!'

I don't know what I am. I have a bulldog kind of a face, but the rest
of me is terrier. I have a long tail which sticks straight up in the
air. My hair is wiry. My eyes are brown. I am jet black, with a white
chest. I once overheard Fred saying that I was a Gorgonzola
cheese-hound, and I have generally found Fred reliable in his
statements.

When I found that I was under discussion, I opened my eyes. Master was
standing there, looking down at me, and by his side the man who had
just said I was ugly enough. The man was a thin man, about the age of a
barman and smaller than a policeman. He had patched brown shoes and
black trousers.

'But he's got a sweet nature,' said master.

This was true, luckily for me. Mother always said, 'A dog without
influence or private means, if he is to make his way in the world, must
have either good looks or amiability.' But, according to her, I overdid
it. 'A dog,' she used to say, 'can have a good heart, without chumming
with every Tom, Dick, and Harry he meets. Your behaviour is sometimes
quite un-doglike.' Mother prided herself on being a one-man dog. She
kept herself to herself, and wouldn't kiss anybody except master--not
even Fred.

Now, I'm a mixer. I can't help it. It's my nature. I like men. I like
the taste of their boots, the smell of their legs, and the sound of
their voices. It may be weak of me, but a man has only to speak to me
and a sort of thrill goes right down my spine and sets my tail wagging.

I wagged it now. The man looked at me rather distantly. He didn't pat
me. I suspected--what I afterwards found to be the case--that he was
shy, so I jumped up at him to put him at his ease. Mother growled
again. I felt that she did not approve.

'Why, he's took quite a fancy to you alread